Bringing Sexy back
by bundles-'o-joy
Summary: A collection of stories with dear Severus saying some really unexpected things...fourth installment up!
1. Bringing Sexy Back

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything. (holds up hands)_

_Plot Summary: Okay, okay. Basically--Snape goes a-snoopin' in Sirius' attic, and finds certain things of interest. This story is about the verbal consequences of his curiosity. _

_Note: the main joke and title of this story are derived from a rather irritating cultural phenomenon in the United States, through the courtesy of Justin Timberlake. It's rather annoying, actually--I always think that he's been kicked in the essentials when he sings it. But nevertheless, i must admit, it's rather catchy. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!_

They were cleaning out the hovel--no, excuse me, number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Hosing down the mutt's doghouse was more like it, thought Snape humorlessly, as he bent over to put yet another fluttering little doxy out of its misery. Providence had not been kind to the Potions Master, as he now found himself on his hands and knees, engaging in the vile domestic chores in the home of one of his fiercest school day rivals.

It was one of the merciless drawbacks of being in the Order. Under the elaborate and rather ridiculous pretense of "camaraderie," they were making Black "feel better" by cleaning out his ancestral home. Snape did not prefer to make Black "feel better." Snape preferred Black to "feel nothing at all," six feet beneath the ground.

And besides, it was always about Black. Always. Bloody spoiled stay-home convict. What a queen, thought Snape bitterly. Dumbledore never tried to make _him _"feel better." It was always Severus this, Severus that. Teach the Potter vermin Occlumency, Severus. Be civil with the midget bastards you teach, Severus. Don't call them midget bastards, Severus.

Would you also like me to clean your house, you fluffy old codger? Snape thought ferociously. What about Black's house? Oh wait a minute, I just _did _that.

Snape had always had faith in his powers of persuasion, and attempted to use them on Dumbledore. "But he _likes _dirt and grime, headmaster," he had said reasonably. "He's a mongrel. It's his natural _habitat_."

Dumbledore, for some reason, did not appear to be swayed by this line of reasoning. And that, thought Snape, was why he now found himself standing sullenly in the middle of the Black's attic on a fine Saturday afternoon instead of chugging a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey and river dancing drunkenly about the dungeons bellowing "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" in a rather discordant baritone. The latter, under the present circumstances, was most appealing. Even without a Silencing Charm.

Snape sighed. It was approximately two minutes to eleven. Another hour before the divine liberation of lunch.

He looked around the attic with distaste. What filth Black enjoyed living in! He had been rifling through a few of the boxes, admittedly, but had found nothing interesting. But then, suddenly, a medium-sized box in the corner of the attic caught Snape's eye. Striding closer, the Potions Master found himself staring at the label…S.E.X.Y.

As he raised an eyebrow, the phrase "incriminating pictures" floated enticingly through the Potions Master's head. With a swift movement, he opened the box. He found himself staring at a peculiar assortment of items. A Snootwallop's Horn, which was small and gray, a handful of Endgrass which was pale and stringy, a Xychliamtia which was a small green stone, and a Yander's wing, which was a delicate, lacy-blue little appendage from one of the rarest birds in the world.

Snape could hardly believe his eyes. Before him were some of the most sought-after potions ingredients in the world. Each treasure, worth bucketfuls of Galleons, was more than he dared dream about with his meager teacher's salary. He thought, with ecstasy, of some of the remarkable potions he could produce with these prize ingredients.

But no. Snape sighed heavily. This was Black's. He couldn't…

He gazed at the box in his hands and gently brushed a few errant cobwebs out of the way. And yet--the box was shoved rather unceremoniously to the side of the attic. Black probably didn't know--or care--about these priceless objects. He had never been much of a potions brewer, thought Snape with a snort, as he had approximately the same level of subtlety as a fried herring.

He would never miss it…

Snape glanced around guiltily, as though feeling accusing eyes upon his back. Seeing none, he was suddenly assailed by an enormous wave of intellectual lust and seized the box.

He couldn't tuck it under his cloak--the odd, boxy shape would be a dead giveaway. Even Black wouldn't believe a misfired engorgement spell ("Why is it suspiciously shaped like a box from my attic, Snivellus?"). Fine--he'd just have to carry it.

Snape thought carefully. All he had to do was get down the creaky, creaky steps without attracting attention, walk over the creaky, creaky floorboards without attracting attention, and head through the living room which also contained the only accessible fireplace in the house, and also the place where everyone was currently congregated, without attracting attention.

Brilliant.

But it was worth taking a chance. He thought of the Yander's wing, and his heart sang. Well, sort of. It, being Snape's heart, sneered with slightly less malice than usual. Something which was only slightly less surprising than the fact that he did have a heart, in conflict with a popular rumor which suggested a great lump of coal resided in the general area instead.

Snape began his journey down the steps. Slowly, softly, popping sweat beads every time the stairs creaked slightly.

He made it through the hallway, down a second flight of stairs, and into the living room. It was deserted. Swiftly waking across the floor, he reached triumphant fingers into the flowerpot of Floo powder. _Almost there, almost there…_

"Snape!"

He froze. He could have cried, if only he knew how.

Slowly, he revolved on the spot and looked into the smug face of Sirius Black.

"Going somewhere, Snivellus?"

Snape said nothing. The box sat helplessly in his hands. Sirius saw it and his eyes gleamed nastily.

"Ah…pilfering, I see. What a fine, upstanding moral citizen you are, Snape. I thought you disapproved of thieves? Or is that only hypocritically restricted to Hogwarts?"

Snape was caught. The box shook slightly in his hands. It was a hallmark of how much its contents meant to him that he did not hex Black into eternity.

Sirius eyed him like a hunter who had just cornered a trembling rabbit.

"So?" he said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Snape looked at the box once more. He looked at his feet. And then, in a burst of divine inspiration, he looked at Black squarely.

"Well, Black, if you must know," he said in a voice so silky it could have sustained its own line of fashion, "I'm bringing Sexy back."

And with that, he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared in an impressive burst of green flames, leaving a thoroughly nonplussed Sirius in his wake.

FIN

_hardeeharrharr. SIRIUS GOT POWNED!!!!!!!!!!!! wow, i'm a sad excuse for a human being. please review!!! --love, your eternal friend, bundlesojoy_


	2. Who Lives in a Pineapple Under the Sea?

_Disclaimer: see previous chapter_

_A wee little scene from Snape's potions class, as our favorite Potions Master persists with his sudden inclination for modern catchprases…_

Snape swept into the dungeons one morning with a vindictive pseudo sneer-grin plastered on his pale features, a sight most terrifying to behold. A few Gryffindors actually quaked in their uniforms, Harry, Ron and Hermione among them.

He turned around slowly, for greatest theatrical effect, and spread his arms out menacingly.

"Today," he said very, very softly, "is a good day."

There was a collective shudder.

"We shall be studying a particularly complex potion this morning. We are stepping into territory thus far uncharted by novice dunderheads such as yourselves--the incorporation of living organisms into our drafts," said Snape with malicious relish.

He pulled out his wand and gave it a quick wave. A screen appeared alongside an overhead projector, and images began to rapidly materialize. There was a flurry to retrieve notebooks and quills.

Harry looked vaguely ahead, his vision beginning to obscure. It had been a trying evening…practice had gone on extremely late last night, and after working through piles of assignments, he'd barely gotten any sleep. Of course, the last thing he needed was detention with Snape, so he blearily attempted to follow along. But--hang on, he must be dreaming--what on earth was on that screen? It looked like…

"A pineapple," Snape was saying, as he tapped the image in question with his wand. "Today, we will be utilizing a very rare, porous organism which resides within this fruit."  
"I'm dreaming," thought Harry. "Snape is talking about pineapples…"

A Slytherin, smarmily intending to please, put up his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Banes?"

"Sir, why is the organism so difficult to procure?"

Snape nodded with approval. "An excellent question, Mr. Banes. Ten points to Slytherin. Indeed, this organism, is incredibly rare to come by for it only grows if the aforementioned fruit is leagues beneath the surface of the ocean."

Harry (who had been dozing off for some time) was brought to his senses when he was jabbed in the side by Hermione's notebook. He glanced at it; every square inch was covered in frantic scribbles. But, he considered, she seemed to have done her research about this bizarre organism, for its description was right there in her notes, along with it's name…

Harry gave a sleepy grin. What a ridiculous name for…well…anything, really…

His eyes suddenly became focused again on a most unwelcome sight; Snape was striding over with an unpleasantly purposeful smile on his face.

"And Potter here, who has no trouble taking a short nap during lectures, should have even less trouble answering my question…"

Harry's insides froze.

"Well, Potter?" asked Snape with a horrible, crooked yellow grin. Harry couldn't help but notice how much he looked like a demonic Jack-O-Lantern…

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea, Potter?"

Harry stared at him, and stifled a snort. Glancing at Hermione's notebook, he knew he had the answer.

"The organism _Spongebobitus Squarepanticus, _Professor," said Harry.

Snape looked sour. "Ten points from Gryffindor," he spat angrily.

Harry's mouth dropped open. This was a new low in unfairness. He'd gotten the answer correct! Why would the git take points off?

You were going to laugh at me, you twerp, thought Snape. But seriously--the Potions Master considered it for a second…who lives in a pineapple under the sea? That sounded stupid, even in his head.

He glared at Harry.

"For intended impudence, Potter," he snapped. "Detention, tonight at eight o' clock," he added, relishing the look of horror on Harry's face.

In the meantime…the lesson would end in an hour and a half. He could then adjourn to his quarters and grade a stack of first year essays. But no--nightmarish thoughts of horrific grammar plagued him.

He had a sudden inexplicable urge go to the staff room, where Dumbledore kept a muggle Television set…but that was only for when people were really desperate…

Perhaps, if no one was there, he would indulge himself, watch a few "shows," as they called them…

Maybe even a few infantile Muggle cartoons…


	3. My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the

_And the fun continues!_

It was all in the name of competition.

Only incredible amounts of serious incentive could have persuaded Severus Snape, reigning terror and bastard bat of Slythrein to willingly remain in the present situation.

The present situation being, as fate would have it, on the front lawn of the Burrow. Dumbledore had promised a year's supply of Ogden's finest fire whiskey to whoever could…well, manage to concoct the most delicious snack for the Order that afternoon. What a weirdly compulsive old man, thought Snape, though he didn't argue.

Snape looked into the depths of his cauldron. The substance before him bubbled enticingly, and he stirred it gently with the tip of his wand. He inhaled. Thick, rich and creamy, with the perfect amount of coca and cream, it smelled absolutely heavenly. Sirius, who was vigorously chopping something at a picnic table a few feet away, even put up his nose for a sniff.

Snape smirked. Somehow or another, the competition had become a cook-off between himself and Sirius. And that meant, of course, that he, Snape, had this one in the bag.

Although he generally confined himself to slimy solutions and bitter brews, this particular situation demanded utmost attention to taste. His masterful understanding of proportion proved most useful as he combined the smooth, thick chocolate with milk, cream, a dash of cinnamon, a pinch of nutmeg, a spot of vanilla, several dollops of rich French vanilla ice cream. With a lazy flick of his wand, a small stream of pureed ice wound delicately into the solution. The smell of the rich, bubbling chocolate wafted decadently into the air.

He left the solution to oscillate gently as he sauntered over to where Sirius was cursing and chopping up a rather dead-looking stalk of celery. With delicate fingers, Snape pinched up a jaggedly hacked piece.

"Slaughtering Bowtruckles, Black?" he asked imperiously.

"Shut up," said Sirius darkly, wiping a small bead of sweat from his brow.

"What exactly is it you're making?"

"None of your business, git. Well, if you must know, celery pieces and peanut butter," said Sirius sullenly.

"How positively gourmet."

Sirius was about to chuck his paring knife at Snape when a deep voice interrupted them both.

"My word! What smells so wonderful?"

Professor Dumbledore had appeared, and was peering interestedly into Snape's cauldron.

"Ah, Headmaster. You are just in time to sample my concoction."  
"Has it got a name?"

"Not yet…" Snape ladled a creamy dollop into a glass and garnished it with a few elegant slivers of almond. Dumbledore took a deep swig, and his eyes twinkled with delight.

"How positively delectable, Severus!" he said, as Snape didn't bother masking a highly superior look. "And Sirius! What have we here?"

"Avant garde peanut butter and celery sil vous plait," said Sirius grandly, adding all the French words he knew. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

All of a sudden, there was a small stampede of people.

"Something smells amazing!"

"What's going on here?"  
"I want some!"

Harry, Ron and the twins had appeared on the lawn.

"Can we have some?"

Snape began ladling out his drink, and passed them around. The boys accepted them slightly suspiciously, though took tentative sips since Dumbledore was there. Harry's eyes widened with shock, though Ron was the first to voice is astonishment.

"Blimey, sir, this is great!"

Snape uncharacteristically refrained from making smug comments.

"It appears as though we have a winner!" announced Dumbledore, as he handed Snape a certificate. "Free Firewhiskey all year for you, Severus! Well done!"

"But wait!" cried Sirius desperately. "What about mine?"  
Harry, Ron and the twins each sampled a piece of celery clumsily coated in peanut butter. Despite his undying allegience to Sirius, Harry couldn't help choking on his.

"Sorry, Sirius, mate," said Ron as he gagged, "We're going to have to give this one to the Professor."

Sirius looked murderous.

"As you can see, Black," said Snape, who could no longer restrain himself, "MY milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And…" he added nastily, "As they say, it's _better than yours_."

"Severus," said Dumbledore reprovingly.

"Sorry, Headmaster," replied Snape dourly, though he pulled a face at Black when Dumbledore's back was turned.

"DAMN!" yelled Sirius.

FIN

_Please review, my lovelies! I'm also open to suggestions for modern catchphrases to torture Snape with..._


	4. Sneer Factor

_This is a slight variation on the theme I've been pursuing...a twist, if you will. I hope you enjoy it. American readers should get the reference. _

"No, no, no, no, no! Cut, cut, CUT, Severus, that's ENOUGH!" Paolo the Director threw his clipboard in the air in desperation as Snape glared at the young actor beside him so ferociously that the little muffin burst into loud, fabulously exaggerated sobs.

Snape stopped and stared at his irate director. "What now, Paolo?" he demanded. "I shampooed _twice _for this nonsense, and I'll have you know that it wasn't an amusing way to spend a Saturday afternoon. And quite frankly--" he whipped around and glanced adoringly into a conveniently located reflective surface, "I think it looks quite good."

Paolo sighed. Thespians. _Honestly_. He decided to go about this as patiently as he could.

"The hair looks gorgeous, Sev--"  
"Do not," whispered Snape dangerously, "call me Sev."  
"All right. _Severus_. Sorry. It isn't the hair. It's your…well, attitude…""What is wrong with my attitude, Paolo?"  
"Well--it's--just that--" Paolo, normally a man of great articulation, wrung his hands in despair for lack of a coherent, nay, polite way of breaking the news to his brooding grump of a leading man. "Well, Severus, I think you're overdoing it."  
Snape raised his eyebrows--the Italian had obviously struck a nerve.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, his voice rising in passion. "_Overdoing _it? I am a master! What were you doing when I was going on and on about the subtle science and exact art in the movie theater? Weren't you paying _attention_?" He flailed his arms dramatically which, considering the fact that he was wearing long, billowing robes, achieved great effect.

"Of course I was paying attention, Severus," said Paolo miserably, mentally cursing his own choice of career. _He could have been an optometrist, but noooo, Paolo HAD to be a director…_

"Well then! You shall not criticize me in any shape or form. It is a _privilege _that I am regaling you with my glorious presence, Paolo, a _privilege_."

"A privilege," repeated Paolo dully. "All right, Severus. Do what you want. But please, just please could just do it? The network needs the commercial in less than five hours. "  
"Very well. If I have no more…interferences," said Snape, his eyes glinting dangerously.

Paolo decided to acquiesce and nodded. "Okay, go on. In five--four--three--two--one--ACTION!"

Snape strode up and eyed the camera squarely.

"Do you have what it takes?" he whispered. "To be the best--the brightest--the greatest master of the sinister facial expression?" (the child actor whimpered piteously).

"Do you have the necessary skills," Snape continued "To frighten innocent children, appall grannies, and be a menace to society in general?" (another whimper).

"If so--come join me, Severus Snape, winner of Witch Weekly's Least Charming Smile Award four years in a row--for a reality show unlike any you've seen before. Let's see who can be the next Dean of Mean in this year's season of…Sneer Factor!"

Snape paused and, with all the might he could muster, sneered magnificently into the camera lens. It promptly shattered.

The camera man turned to Paolo and raised his eyebrows.

Paolo stared. "Wow, Severus, that was…wow…"

Snape glared at him.

"Did you record that?" he demanded.

"Y-yes…"

"Very well, then. Gentlemen, I shall be in my trailer if you need me." Snape bowed elaborately and strode off.

The cameraman looked at Paolo with awe in his eyes.

"He may be a total jerk, Paolo, but this guy's _good_. He could give the Grinch a run for his money"

"Yeah, but that's the fourth camera he's broken today!" Paolo shouted. "He needs to replace them!"

The camera man fiddled inconsequentially with the zoom button.

"Okay, so whose going to ask him?"

The pair looked at each other. A couple of eternities flitted by.

"You thirsty, Paolo?" asked the cameraman. "I think we should get some coffee. Or something stronger."  
Paolo agreed. Emphatically.

_Read and review! Love, your lovely bundles o joy _


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